


More to love

by sansaswildlinglover



Series: More to love [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Jon is really into it, Post-Canon, Rickon Stark is King in the North, Sansa has gained a little weight eating too many lemon cakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: She wept when Jon presented her with the first lemon cake she'd seen in years. He'd had an entire batch of them made, and Sansa ate all of them, despite starting to feel lightly queasy before finishing.***The larger she grew, the more he found himself touching her, and she always allowed him to. He'd tuck a strand of hair behind her ear to brush his thumb over her chubby cheek, waiting for her plump little mouth to curve into a smile.Written for Jonsa Week Day 4: Gluttony





	More to love

The first requests for her hand had arrived with the earliest spring blossoms. Sansa had expected them, but that didn't make her more agreeable to any of them.

It was in those early days she first suggested marriage to Jon. After all his own position at Winterfell was tenuous, the Northern lords were still distrustful of his Targaryen blood. As her husband, he couldn't be sent away.

She'd been upset all morning about the four ravens that had arrived before dawn, and the possibility of losing him again had only made things worse.

He found her in the Godswood, and by then, she'd had some time to come up with a plan.

"Don't leave," she begged him, and he wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.

"Don't worry," he reassured her with one of his rare smiles. "I'm not going anywhere."

She wrung her hands, biting her lip as she gathered all of her courage. She took a deep breath and then she asked him.

He refused her. "No, I won't let you do that for me," he said, unyielding determination in his voice, but then he added more tenderly: "And I won't let you marry me, just so you don't have to wed anyone else. We'll find another way."

She wanted to tell him she wished to marry him because he was brave, gentle and strong, and because perhaps her affection for him hadn't been strictly sisterly for a while now. But she was afraid to scare him off. What if he was disgusted with her and she'd end up losing him completely?

She couldn't risk that, so she held her tongue and they never spoke of it again.

The amount of proposals decreased somewhat after Rickon's coronation, but she still received plenty of them. As sister to the King in the North she was still a much sought-after prize, and with the king only being eight years old and still many summers away from fathering his own sons, a marriage to her became even more attractive.

She tried not to let it spoil her enjoyment of the new spring. They'd all known the pain of hunger during the long winter, and though food was still scarce, things were looking up. 

She and Jon ruled Winterfell and the North together, in Rickon's name, and she was as happy as could be expected. She imagined things wouldn't be that different if he'd agreed to marry her.

Of course, he wouldn't have to leave after they shared a cup of ale in her solar at night. They would share a bed and he would hold her in his arms, and she'd be able to run her fingers through his hair and kiss his soft-looking lips.

She'd seen him undress a couple of times, and though his scars looked hideous, she'd enjoyed looking at his muscled chest and stomach. She wouldn't mind inspecting them more closely.

She was still a maid, and for a very long time she'd had no interest in changing that. She'd had enough of men who only wanted her claim and her body.

But sometimes, when she was sitting close to Jon, she'd feel a confusing warmth inside her body. And sometimes when he kissed her temple or cheek, she was tempted to twist her neck and tilt her head up, so his lips would land on her own.

If Jon were to kiss her and hold her in his arms and ask her for it, she'd gladly give him her maidenhead. But that could never be, he'd made himself clear on the matter long ago.

She wept when he presented her with the first lemon cake she'd seen in years. He'd had an entire batch of them made, and Sansa ate all of them, despite starting to feel lightly queasy before finishing.

Afterwards she had the worst tummy ache she ever remembered having, but she'd do it all over again, only to relive that glorious happiness she'd felt munching down all of those cakes.

She's still not quite sure how it happened, but at some point, Sansa became addicted to the feeling of eating. All she knew was that it was such a sweet relief to be able to eat whatever she wanted after being hungry for so long and that for a couple of minutes, food could chase away all of her sadness and loneliness.

Of course she noticed her dresses growing tighter, to the point where she had to let them out and even make a couple of new ones, but she didn't realize how much weight she'd gained until the day a party of Vale knights arrived at Winterfell.

Her former betrothed, Harrold Hardyng was among them, and despite never regretting she hadn't married him, she was happy to see him. Unfortunately Harry didn't seem to share that sentiment.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted, forcing a smile. "I didn't recognize you at first."

"Ser Harrold," she said with a curtsey, and added: "It must be the hair."

He cleared his throat. "That as well, I suppose."

Later that night she overheard him talking to one of his fellow knights. "Did you see her?" he scoffed. "I'm not marrying her, not even if Lord Snow offers me her weight in gold as a dowry!"

The men erupted into drunken laughter and Sansa shrank back into the shadows. His rejection hurt, even if she didn't want him, didn't want any of the men who'd come to visit Winterfell. She resisted the urge to reach for another slice of pie for comfort, and decided she could use this to her advantage.

***

Jon found Sansa in the Godswood, pacing in front of the Heart Tree. He knew she worried about him having to leave Winterfell, and he was aware how much she hated the endlessly growing list of suitors vying for her hand. Thinking about all those men who wanted her made him angry too, but he tried not to dwell on those feelings.

He wished his heart wouldn't leap up at her suggestion. "I could marry you," she whispered, a pretty blush appearing on her thin face. She felt so slight and vulnerable in his arms, and she looked tired, with her sharp cheekbones and the dark circles under her eyes. But to him she was still lovely, she always would be.

She was offering him everything he could imagine ever wanting, after all the things he'd suffered, but he couldn't accept it. After everything she'd been through, she'd given up on her dreams, but he wouldn't let her. He needed to put her first, so he refused.

Soon after, Rickon was crowned King in the North and he solved the question of Jon staying on at Winterfell, by naming him his regent. He was happy, spending his days with Sansa, ruling Winterfell and the North together, and if he sometimes still wished for more, that was to be his own problem. He'd made his bed, now he'd have to lie in it.

Years went by, and he couldn't say he didn't notice Sansa indulging in food and especially sweets, but he gave the matter little thought. He watched her became curvier and more radiant, and the sight made him smile.

The larger she grew, the more he found himself touching her, and she always allowed him to. He'd tuck a strand of hair behind her ear to brush his thumb over her chubby cheek, waiting for her plump little mouth to curve into a smile.

He'd rest a hand on her soft warm waist as he leaned over her shoulder to study a ledger she wanted help with or a letter she needed advice on, trying not to let his eyes linger on her ample bosom instead. 

He'd be present in the courtyard when she went out riding, asissting her when she needed to mount her horse. Afterwards he told himself he shouldn't feel guilty over how firmly he'd put his hands on her voluptuous arse to help her up. 

After a while it would seem however, that he couldn't satisfy his depraved mind with innocuous touching alone. More and more often he found himself daydreaming and indulging in inappropriate fantasies, and even at night, she plagued his dreams. 

Whenever she was panting after climbing a flight of stairs or running across the yard, he couldn't help imagining her making those sounds as he made love to her.

More than once he grew jealous of Rickon falling asleep with his head on her luscious milky white teats. He wished he could rest his head on those soft mounds, and that she'd run her hands through his curls, and perhaps, if she let him, he'd bare them so he could put his hands on them, and he could suck on her pert pink nipples.

He'd seen her once, when she was bathing in the hot springs. He hadn't meant to keep looking, but he'd been unable to tear his eyes away from her curvaceous naked body. 

That night he dreamed about spreading her thick, creamy thighs and feasting on her sweet cunt. When she'd fallen apart against his mouth and screamed his name, she kneeled for him, licking her lips before she took him into her mouth.

He woke up with his hand already wrapped around his shaft and when he found his release, he imagined spilling his seed all over her gorgeous tits.

He avoided her for the next couple of days. He was disgusted by his own perverted thoughts, and he was afraid she'd be able to see his shame when she looked him in the eye. 

After about a sennight, he decided to make an appearance at supper in the Great Hall, hoping she wouldn't scold him for missing family meals for such a long while, but to his surprise she wasn't there.

When he asked Rickon about it, he said: "She was upset about Ethan Forrester calling her a fat sow. She fled to her chambers."

Rage boiled up in his chest. What in Seven Hells was Ethan fucking Forrester talking about? He was aware that Sansa was larger than most girls her age, but she was easily the most gorgeous woman in Winterfell.

He ordered a serving man to put his own trencher on a tray, adding some honeyed cakes, a handful of berries and a small bowl of cream himself before getting up and heading to the family quarters.

Having his hands full when he arrived at her door, he softly called out her name. "Sansa, can I come in?"

After a couple of moments, he heard footsteps inside the room and the door swung open. She stepped aside to let him in, letting her hair fall in front of her face. 

He walked over to the table to put the tray down and turned around to see that she wasn't looking at him. "I brought you supper," he told her.

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled.

"You need to eat," he pointed out.

"No, I don't" she answered, finally meeting his eyes. Her own were red-rimmed. "I really, really don't!" Her chin started quivering.

"Sansa?" he tried, alarmed by her trembling lip. He reached for her hand. "What's wrong, Sansa?"

"I should stop eating, that's what's wrong," she muttered, trying to pull her hand away.

He tightened his grip, refusing to let her go. "Is this about Ethan Forrester?"

"You know about that?" she asked, blue eyes filling with tears.

He nodded, swallowing away his discomfort at seeing her so upset.

"I was afraid, Jon," she whispered, lacing their fingers together. "I was afraid to be sold off to the highest bidder again."

"Sansa," he almost gasped . "You know I would never do that to you."

"I know you don't want to," she agreed. "But you'll have to eventually. Rickon needs alliances. Marriage is the best way to make an alliance.

"But all I ever wanted was to be loved," she choked out. "And who could love me now?"

He lifted their intertwined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "I do," he heard himself saying, the words escaping from his lips in an attempt to comfort her, before he could think better of it.

She pulled her hand away, folding her arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture. "Please, don't," she begged him.

"It's the truth," he pointed out.

"It's not what I meant," she objected, shaking her head.

He closed the distance between them, cupping her cheek. "Aye, it is."

She ignored him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, leaning into his touch. "I can't imagine anybody wanting me anymore." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to almost break his heart.

"Sansa," he croaked out, waiting for her to meet his gaze. "I want you. So, so much."

She sucked in a sharp breath, and he could see disbelief in her eyes. Clearly words wouldn't be enough to convince her.

She was so close he could count her dark wet lashes. Her warm breath washed over his face as her hands fisted into the fabric of his tunic. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she licked her lips. 

"I'm yours," he told her and pressed his lips to hers, ever so softly. She closed her eyes and her mouth started moving against his. He could hardly believe it, he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. 

When he put his free hand on her waist to pull her closer, she parted her lips in a sigh. He lightly sucked on her bottom lip, flicking out his tongue and meeting hers.

She tasted like apple cider, sweet enough, but pleasantly tart, mixed with a little salt from her tears. He slid his hand to the small of her back, pulling her soft warm body flush against him. She wrapped her hands around his neck and their kiss grew hungrier and deeper

When they parted for breath, she panted out: "No one has ever kissed me like that."

He pressed a quick peck to her mouth, smiling against her lips as he murmured: "From now on, you'll be kissed like that very often."

**Author's Note:**

> There was supposed to be smut in this, but right here just felt like a natural point to end it :')
> 
> Maybe I'll do a second chapter or a sequel one day :)


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